


The Price of Terror

by TeamTired



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Drowning, F/M, France (Country), Historical, Historical Characters - Freeform, Original Character(s), Other, Russian, Time Travel, Warehouse 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamTired/pseuds/TeamTired
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We know that Robespierre used Magellan's Astrolabe to turn back time, but how did he get it, and what horror was worth undoing that he would be willing to cause the Reign of Terror to prevent it?</p><p>This work explores the journey of Maximilien Robespierre, starting with his induction to Warehouse 11 and the Russian agents there, and ending with his desperate usage of Magellan's Astrolabe and his subsequent transition from "The Incorruptible" to "The Bloodthirsty Dictator".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rise of the Beast

As he lifted his head to gaze out over the massive crowd of bloodthirsty citizens, he felt the first drop of rain land on his head. The French rain had become familiar to him, an ally even. Mobs did not tend to do their best thinking in the rain, which could only help him to make his point during his regular orations.

As he spoke, his throat was dry from rage and indignation. He was a changed man, every part of him would admit that. The Robespierre that had spoken before the Royal Court, championed for universal rights and peace and called for equality and justice was simply no more. There was no room in his head for that Robespierre anymore. Instead, the beast in his head demanded blood and justice through terror. The virtues of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity were brushed aside; there was no room during the Reign of Terror for brotherhood.

As his speech moved to the gripping finale, the drizzle became a downpour, completely drenching the French citizens that had come to support him, patriots all. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, a sliver of the man he once was thoroughly impressed at the eloquence of the beast that had taken control. Though there was no denying it was a great evil, even the Devil himself had an appreciation for great oration. It had been great oration that had propelled Robespierre to power, and it would be great oration that would plunge France into the Terror.

With the closing words of his speech, Maximilien François Marie Isidore de Robespierre lifted his hands into the sky, as if challenging God Himself to put a stop to the work he was doing on Earth. The skies unleashed an even greater downspout in response. The fragment of Robespierre that was still a man became preoccupied with an ancient memory, a memory of delivering a similar speech in a very similar downpour many years ago. He opted not to share his observations with the rest of Robespierre, for the fragment was the only thing left of him that cared of such things, or could appreciate the narrative quality his life had taken on.

Naturally, his nature had not always been so tainted by the beast, nor had his assumption of the beast’s traits been a sudden occurrence, but even the original Robespierre would admit that he fostered some sort of darkness within him, the same darkness that every man kept locked deep away, the very darkness that Robespierre knew every man had to fight every day of his life.

What had caused the darkness to take control? Even now Robespierre could not be sure. Every artifact had a drawback, that was the rule he had been sure to know since day one of Agent training. But the guilty sliver of Robespierre knew even now he could not purely blame an artifact for the monstrosity that was now stirring up French Revolutionary spirit in his stead. He had seen everything he trusted fall apart him, and that was not something a man took lightly. How could a man that could no longer trust stay the same, even if the entire world had decided to forget every moment of treachery?

No, the Terror was admittedly at least in some way a punishment for the world that had done him wrong, not that he could ever admit that to anyone.

The crowd erupted into applause. Obviously the monstrosity had done an excellent job. Though Robespierre regretted unleashing this great evil into the world, he had to admit even now that the beast’s methods would seem attractive to him. It promised revenge, swift justice, and the unity of a people that sought a bond of brotherhood.


	2. Curiosities and the Danger Thereof

It was customary for young men of a certain age to visit the rest of Europe in a grand tour of sorts, and Robespierre was no exception. Though it would have been outside his means to travel all the way to Germany, he had been invited to attend a conference on the rise of Democracy, both in Europe and in the newly independent colonies, a subject which he was always glad to speak on to anyone that would listen. He himself had just completed “Addresse à la nation artésienne”, which he was delighted to have the opportunity to speak on in the company of such esteemed fellows.

Enclosed in the invitation were a series of notarized letters and a collection of currency, which together would ensure his comfortable transit via carriage all the way to the conference. The papers which authenticated his visit were strange, and stamped with a seal Robespierre was entirely unfamiliar with. The majority of the seal was taken up by a two headed eagle”, the heads of which were facing in opposite directions, one to the east, and the other to the west. In each of its claws, the eagle clutched a sealed scroll. Over the heads of the eagle was the number 11, embossed in plain script.  
It was not a family seal, of that Robespierre was certain, and consultation with his German friends revealed nothing more than the insistence that was not a seal they had ever seen either. But when the time came for Robespierre to enter into the various borders of the countries of the Holy Roman Empire, he met with no resistance, no matter where he passed. When he finally arrived in Munich, he was astounded by the art and culture that surrounded him, something that he had naturally come to love in France, but hadn’t quite expected to see flourishing just as well this far from home.  
The hotel that had been reserved for him was far grander than the inn that he had expected, and was luxurious in the very way that he had sworn he detested to anyone that would listen. But he expected to climb the political ladder in his native France soon enough, and he supposed he might as well get used to the luxury that the rich and powerful enjoyed.

The conference itself was held in a large theater, from which the speakers could project to everyone that had come to listen. Nobility, great scientists, and famous thinkers alike had all gathered to listen and share their opinions and findings, and the most honored seats were reserved on the stage of the theater itself, so that the most esteemed guests would not miss a word. As he took his place at the edge of the stage, Robespierre marveled at the language and culture around him. The speakers and audience were dressed in the modern styles of their own homelands, which varied wildly. The air around him swam with snippets of French, German, Russian, and even a small amount of English. To his left, near the center of the stage, Robespierre noticed a number of familiar French faces, though the majority of the speakers were Prussian and Austrian scientists and speakers.

After the first few speeches, it was obvious to Robespierre that the purpose of this conference was simply to pat the backs of the nobility. Many of the speakers went on to insist that the nobility was necessary to ensure the safety of the violent democratic process, paying lip service to the German nobles that Robespierre found himself disgusted with. So as a result, his attention began to drift. After a few minutes of studying the faces of the audience, his gaze was drawn to a young man who was sitting near the front. He was shaking violently, and his face was covered in sweat. As Robespierre continued to watch the young man, he saw the man raise up an ancient wooden goblet, which sloshed with a strange purple liquid. A quick check to his left and right revealed to Robespierre that nobody else had caught onto the young man, or found his actions strange.

Then, in an instant, the young man’s hand drew down to his belt, and he drew a long knife, which he began to dip into the goblet. Robespierre lost himself in that moment, and found himself reacting immediately. As the young man stood up and began to run towards the stage, Robespierre leapt off the stage, extending his fist and punching the young man in midair. As the two fell to the ground, Robespierre struck the man again in the chest, and managed to pin down the arm holding the knife. The goblet fell to the floor and spilled, leaking the purple liquid everywhere. When Robespierre’s adrenaline rush dulled, he realized what he had done, and his ears were filled with the screams of the audience and the shouts of the young man, who was speaking a language Robespierre recognized as Greek but could not understand.

As Robespierre stood up, a number of guards came and bound the man and escorted him away. When he went to look for the goblet, however, he was unable to find it. He tried to ask around, but the crowd ignored him. As they surrounded him, Robespierre found it difficult to move, and while he was glad everyone appreciated his heroics, he had an impossibly strong feeling that the retrieval of the goblet was absolutely essential. When the crowd finally thinned out, he exited the theater, only to find a woman’s arm on his shoulder.

“Excuse me madam, I don’t believe I know you?” he asked, turning around.  
When their eyes met, Robespierre found himself face to face with a stern Russian woman, who was dressed in simple but refined clothing. He was unsettled by the strength of her grip, but said nothing. The woman cleared her throat and responded in perfect French.

“No you do not Mr. Robespierre, but we are very aware of you. We were impressed with your actions in the theater. Not many would have been able to detect the presence of a curiosity that quickly.”

Robespierre responded immediately. “Yes, the goblet, there was something strange about it, it is essential that I find it!”

The Russian woman tutted quietly and laughed to herself before meeting his gaze. “Do not worry, we have neutralized it. And though I admire your determination, I am not sure you are quite up to the task of dealing with that particular curiosity just yet.”  
Robespierre was intrigued. “That wasn’t a normal goblet was it? I felt something dark when I saw it, like it didn’t belong, and the man was yelling something at me, in Greek perhaps?”

The Russian woman laughed again. It was the laugh of a woman who knew something that Robespierre didn’t, like a teacher speaking to a student. He felt so small amount of indignation, but calmed himself and waiting for her response.

“Indeed no. Had you attempted to neutralize that goblet without the proper equipment, you would have killed yourself at best, and ended the lives of every speaker on that platform at worst. That cup was the cup from which Socrates drank the deadly hemlock that ended his life. It fills itself with a poison so vile it can kill a man in one drop, and anyone that touches it finds themselves bound to kill any teacher or speaker in the area. Had you not been quick, we would have lost many minds this day.”

Robespierre was shocked, but something in him believed her. He had felt something when he saw the young man with the cup, something he couldn’t explain.  
“I don’t suppose this was an isolated incident? Are you the sort of woman who spends her time chasing down all manner of historic cups? Shall we seek out the Holy Grail next?”

The Russian woman didn’t find that humorous in the least.

“We naturally have held the Holy Grail for a number of years now, though do not make the mistake of assuming that our practice is limited to tablewares. I have seen things that you cannot even imagine, objects of historic relevance and great power. I have catalogued objects which could end a nation Mr. Robespierre.”

Robespierre scoffed, but immediately regretted it. Was what she was saying that strange? He immediately corrected his tone.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I find all of this a little hard to believe. And why are you telling me anyway? My interests are in the political world, and in social change! I don’t belong chasing down strange historical objects.”

The woman shook her head. “Once you have seen this world, many find it hard to return. I myself was drawn to these curiosities at a young age, after I saw a building in St. Petersburg leveled with a single feather. What I am offering you is a gift that very few have the potential to accept, an invitation to a world of endless wonder. Do you accept? I need your response quickly.”

Robespierre could not help but accept her invitation. He had been seduced by the strange world that he had only seen a glimpse of, and he could not turn back now. As he offered his hand to her, he introduced himself. It was only when she grasped his hand with an incredibly firm grip that he realized his mistake. He had always believed in the equality of men and woman, but here he was shaking hands with an unaccompanied noble Russian!

As they eyes locked yet again, she spoke her name to him.

“Julia Feodorovna Adlerberg”

She wasted no more time, instructing Robespierre to follow her. They moved through the streets with Ms. Adlerberg moving with a speed and grace that astounded him. After about five minutes, the two arrived at a large wooden door at the end of an alley. She instructed him to present his hand, which he did without question. Julia then produced a large key that she dragged along her own hand and then his, leaving a long trail of blood and a stinging sensation in its wake. Before Robespierre could even draw his hand back, she was already waving the now bloody key in front of the door. It took him a minute to realize that the key was oddly three-pronged and bladed somehow. Without flourish, Julia then jammed the key into the wooden door’s keyhole and dragged Robespierre through the black vortex that appeared behind the door.

The journey through the vortex was sickening. He felt his insides surging against him as he drifted weightlessly, and he was consumed by a cold that seemed to touch his very soul. Though he eventually chose to clench his eyes, it made no difference, the vortex was perfectly dark. A few agonizing minutes later, Robespierre found himself standing on solid ground again, and a portion of the cold retreated. Julia gave Robespierre a minute to rest, and when his voice returned to him, he spoke up, though his voice was weak and his throat was sore.

“Another curiosity I suppose?”

Julia nodded her head.

“The Key of Hades. Though I consider it with no small measure of distaste, it is terribly useful. We have just made the trip from Munich to St. Petersburg in ten minutes, at the price of a few nights of comfortable sleep and a small amount of blood. When you have nightmares tonight, I strongly recommend a cup of warm milk, that usually works for me.”

“Then not every curiosity is destructive?”

She shook her head vehemently.

“Indeed. Some are terribly useful, while others are simply strange. Make no mistake, however, each curiosity is an artifact of extreme power, and no artifact is without a price.”

Those last few words resonated in Robespierre’s mind. He was already very aware of the price the Key had charged, and apparently he had not seen the worst of it yet.

He waited a moment and took his surroundings before speaking up again.

“So where are we in St. Petersburg?”

“Strictly speaking we are beneath St. Petersburg, under the Smolny Institute for the Education of Women. Though one would be hard pressed to enter our clubhouse without a considerable amount of force and cunning.”

“Or the usage of a curiosity?”

Julia laughed at that.

“The Key is an object of extreme power. Our Warehouse is protected against siege, be that from a military force or the application of an artifact, and our defenses have been modified to permit entrance of an agent using the Key.”

“Is that what you are then? An agent?”

“Yes, and it is agency that we desire for you as well. Though if I am being honest, the introduction of our fair operation is a chore that I find bores me terribly, so I shall instruct you to speak to our fair director, Mr. Malikov.”

From a number of rooms away, Robespierre could hear a hearty laugh, which he soon discovered was produced by a thin, tall Russian man who walked into the room.

“I have told you time and again Julia that you can call me Alexander.”

“And I have told you time and again that you may refer to me as Ms. Adlerberg, Alexander.”

“Well I’m afraid I cannot comply with that request, Julia, for though it seems you forget it on occasion, I am your superior, which means I can call you whatever I please.”

The tension between the two melted when they embraced, however, and the air was soon filled with the laughs of the two.

The man then turned in the direction of Robespierre and offered his hand. It was at this point that he saw the man’s eyes, which were totally white. He was so distracted that he forget to shake the man’s hand.

“I’m sorry sir, I was just taken aback by your eyes.”

The Russian man laughed again.

“Indeed! An unpleasant side effect of St. Francis’ Tau cross I’m afraid. But I’ve found the benefit far exceeds the cost in most cases. The blindness only lasts a day, and the communication it affords us in the field is terribly useful. It grants control of birds you see.

Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to show you the Warehouse itself. Simply because I cannot enjoy the view right now doesn’t mean you should be denied the pleasure.”

Alexander turned and moved skillfully through the various rooms of the building, until the three found themselves on a balcony overlooking a massive expanse below, which was filled to the brim with shelves, each covered in boxes and shiny objects.

“Welcome, my good man, to Warehouse 11, the illustrious container of the most powerful objects mankind has ever known. We operate outside the bounds of any king or pope, working quietly and skillfully to save humanity from utter destruction. But don’t let Ms. Adlerberg fool you, we tend to have a fairly good time.”

With that last sentence, he playfully nudged Robespierre, who was utterly taken in by the sight of it all.

After waiting for a moment, Alexander spoke up again.

“If you wish to join us, we will find you lodging here in St. Petersburg. Ms. Adlerberg and myself will train you in the art of artifact retrieval, and we may just make an agent of you yet!”

Robespierre thought this all sounded wonderful, but he was not without reservations.

“Would I have to stay in Russia then, and give up my career?”

Julia looked down on the ground, and Alexander cleared his throat before answering.

“That is not something I can answer for sure. It is not unheard of for an agent to be based outside of the Warehouse, though it is very uncommon, and would require a large amount of work to ensure that you were up to it. Rest assured that we have found this iteration of the Warehouse to be very well protected, which means what we really need is more agents in the field, searching out these artifacts before they do harm to the general public.”

Robespierre carefully considered his options before addressing the two agents next to him.

“Very well then. I accept.”


	3. Agent in Training

The path to becoming a Warehouse agent was not a simple nor an easy one. For the next week, Robespierre woke up early to physical conditioning, which was followed by regular study of the Warehouse manuel and the contents of Warehouse 11. Though the power he felt from training his body and mind gave him a thrill he had never felt before, he started to feel anxious.It was for that reason that after a week, he was relieved to hear that Julia and Alexander would begin his pracitcal agent training. 

And so that morning, Robespierre found a note on his door instructing him to run to the Field of Mars, a pleasure park that was a forty minute jog away. When he got there, already sweaty and tired, he found Julia, waiting impatiently. Robespierre waved to her and yelled. As she drew closer, Robespierre studied her appearance. Her luxurious clothing had been replaced with a pair of mens pants, a baggy shirt, and a simple pair of shoes. A hat hid her hair and on her hands she wore a pair of thing gloves. To the untrained eye, she would look like any day worker.

“Ms. Adlerberg! It is quite good to see you! Where is Alexander, I am ready to begin my practical training.”

A dark look crossed Julia’s face. 

“Mr. Robespierre, while Mr. Malikov is quite the expert in the realm of physical theory, rest assured that I am unmatched when it comes to the application of that theory. I will be your physical trainer.”

Robespierre held his tongue. 

“You impressed me with your intuition back in Munich, but your jump was sloppy. I intend to give you the knowledge you need to move gracefully. Your first assignment will be to catch me. Use whatever is available to you. When I am satisfied you have learned your lesson on the art of movement, I will begin your combat instruction.”

“Ms. Adlerberg, this hardly seems fair.”

She laughed.

“You are too right. Naturally you have no hope, especially given my conditioning and experience. But just remember that you are here to learn.”

With that, she started running, and Robespierre raced after her. As they moved quickly through the streets of St. Petersburg, Robespierre could almost feel himself catching after her, but she was just out of reach. And then without warning, the rules of engagement changed. As the two rocketed towards a busy street, Julia leapt through an open carriage, landing deftly on the other side. Robespierre skidded to a stop on the dirt road and waited for the carriages to pass, but when he finally had line of sight, Julia was farther away than ever. Driven by the thrill of competition, Robespierre sped up again, until he was only a short distance away from Julia again. A minute later, Julia took a sharp turn down an alleyway which Robespierre could see ended in a dead end. Without even stopping however, she leapt towards the stone wall and gracefully climbed up it, stopping only at the top to look back at him disappointedly. When he reached the wall, he was able to find a grip, and the strength training had given him the confidence to attempt the climb. When he reached the top, he could see Julia, running away, almost out of sight. When he leapt down, he landed as carefully as he could, and didn’t seem to damage anything. 

Julia paced herself for the benefit of Robespierre, and after an hour of busy streets, leaping over bushes, climbing walls and fences, and running as fast as he could, Robespierre finally found himself at the entrance to the Smolny Institute, where his day had began. It was there that Julia was waiting for him.

“Why did you make me do that?” he asked breathlessly. 

“Do what?” she inquired back.  
“All that jumping and climbing, men don’t move like that, only children play in busy streets like that!”

Julia didn’t even dignify that with a laugh.

“Mr. Robespierre I assure you that while you may worry that you look silly navigating the streets of St. Petersburg, the men that we hunt do not. There will come a day when your quarry will be escaping, perhaps even aided by an artifact. Thinking and moving unconventionally is a powerful tool, both for pursuit and escape. You will be tested on both.

You will be permitted a short break, after which we will meet on the roof of the Institute for your next lesson.”

Half an hour later, Robespierre found a ladder to the top of the Institute, where he found Julia waiting. 

“Your combat training begins now. In a perfect world, you would receive training in the realms of blades, powder weapons, unarmed combat, and the weaponization of artifacts, but we do not have nearly enough time for that. Additionally, since we hope that our encounters are for the most part resolved non lethally, you will be instructed only in unarmed combat.

To begin, I wish you to strike me”

He almost said something about not striking a woman, but he once again held his tongue. This was Julia Adlerberg he was dealing with. So instead of complaining, he straightened himself into a boxer’s stance and started with a right jab. In a flash, Julia caught his arm, locked his elbow, and then dropping her weight closer to the ground, she flipped him over her, causing him to slam into the pavement. Robespierre almost complained, but only stood up. At her invitation, he tried again, this time circling her before letting another punch fly. This time, she took advantage of the change in his stance, and in an instant, a sweep to his leg took his balance, causing him to drop to the ground. At this point Robespierre was flustered. 

“Ms. Adlerberg I hardly think this is a gentlemanly way to fight.”

Julia scoffed.

“Oh pardon me, did you think that our enemies would only fight using the gentleman’s boxing rules you learned in prep school? Or perhaps you thought that a well placed punch was the solution to everything? I wonder what you will do when your opponent is twice your size, courtesy of Goliath’s greaves, or can summon the powers of lightning, thanks to one of Archimedes’ inventions? Will a punch still do the job then?”

Robespierre became sheepish. It was clear that Ms. Adlerberg had much to teach him, and he would do well to listen. 

Two painful hours of practice later, Robespierre was bruised and sore, and Julia had not a scratch on her, but he still felt accomplished and learned in a way. 

As the two climbed down from the roof of the Institute, Robespierre spoke up.

“Ms. Adlerberg, I don’t suppose you could tell me where you learned all this?”

She responded immediately.

“Much of it I learned from my training in the Orient, and some I learned from my father and husband, both of whom are military men. I have learned that even the most determined men will yield to the requests of a strong willed woman. The Chinese even have a folk talk of Hua Mulan, a woman who fought the enemies of the Chinese for twelve years before returning to her home.”

With that, Julia leapt to the bottom of the ladder, landing effortlessly on the ground.

“And the rest I gathered through observation, you would do well to the do the same. While you disregard the play of children in the streets, I see a method of movement that my enemies may not have. What you call a dirty trick in a fist fight, I call the only thing between myself and death.”

The rest of the day was spent working with Alexander in the lab. When Robespierre arrived, the tall Russian man was at work wrestling with a large iron pot and a sheet of rubber. As he approached, Robespierre reached out his hand to help, but Alexander slapped him away. 

“Maximilien Robespierre! You know that the first rule is never contact an artifact needlessly! You just reached out towards me, and could have brushed against this cauldron! 

And in this particular case, that would be an unforgivable mistake.”

Robespierre furrowed his brow. 

“And why would that be?”

Alexander finished wrapping up the pot, and after it dispersed a burst of electricity, he began to walk with Robespierre to the Warehouse floor, where he placed it on a complex apparatus on the shelf. 

“Because this particular Hunnic cauldron belonged to Bleda Hun, Attila’s brother. He tried to kill Attila during a hunting trip, and the cauldron took on a measure of a treachery. Anyone that touches it becomes driven to betray everyone they hold dear.”

Robespierre's face went completely white, but Alexander didn’t seem to notice as he continued to talk.

“Anyway, don’t be distracted by that, we just received that from an agent in Mongolia. We’d been tracking it for a number of years now. What you must concern yourself with is being up to date on the science of artifact suppression and retrieval. 

To that end, have you been reading the manual?”

He nodded his head.

“Excellent. Then you’ll naturally be able to explain to me how one would feasibly store all these artifacts safely.”

That was easy.

“Artifacts are usually docile without human interaction, through static forces build up over time. In order to safely store artifacts without interaction between them, Warehouse 11 uses a system of Franklin Rods and Leyden Jars to harmlessly trap and store the ambient static forces of the stored artifacts.”

Alexander nodded his head excitedly. 

“Yes very good! And though it doesn’t help you much to know, we actually are able to power a good amount of the Warehouse simply on that ambient static power! But more importantly the arrangement of static negators allows us to manage each artifact individually. A more central system would be easy for our enemies to destabilize.

But all this theory wouldn’t be much help to an agent in the field, and artifacts that have had fresh contact with humans or other artifacts tend to be too volatile to safely disperse. Did you see that rubber sheet I had earlier?”

“I did. Is that the ‘neutralizer’ the manual spoke of?”

“Correct again! Modern science has given a number of tools against the chaos that is the world of artifacts, and the mesh you saw is one of them. Through a combination of conductors and insulators, we can safely force an artifact to ‘settle down’ as the case may be. But be warned! As you saw in the office, some artifacts are too violent to go without a fight, and the business end of the mesh is nothing to fool around with. Agents are also to use insulated gloves, like the ones I am wearing. Though they will not make you immune to artifacts, they prevent direct human contact and make it easy to safely handle most artifacts.

Any further questions?”

Robespierre shook his head. He felt ready to get into the field, a week of study and training had left him restless. 

“Excellent, then follow me. Your first mission starts today. I’ve received intel from a contact in Moscow that there have been a spree of strange killings, and since the local police are stumped, I have reason to believe we may be dealing with a curiosity, if you catch my drift. Everything that you need to know will be in the briefing with Julia.”

Robespierre followed Mr. Melikov back up to the offices, where they found Julia waiting for them. Though she had changed out of her training clothes, she was still underdressed for a noblewoman, and Robespierre had reason to believe that even in a long skirt and women’s clothing, she could still outrun and outfight him. 

Alexander handed them both folders. As he spoke, Robespierre flipped open the folder to find a number of graphic sketches, all depicting victims in the same position: kneeling but neatly bisected at the waist, with the torso a short distance away. The most curious part was the scene, which was mostly bloodless, despite the grisly nature of the murders. 

“The kneeling position indicates a religious artifact of some sort, or something that desires worship, while the neatness of the cut suggests an extremely keen weapon. We may be dealing with something English, or St. Peter’s sword, but assume nothing. The closeness between Sweden and Moscow could be another clue; we’ve been looking for the Lævateinn for a few years now, and this may be our chance.

In any case, remain alert and be safe. Since this is a particularly dangerous mission, I’ve allotted you one of the Goblets of Severan, use it carefully, and above all else remember to use earplugs! In addition to that, Julia has her bombs and knives, and she has assured me that your combat training is going swimmingly Robespierre, so worry not! If you run into any difficulty, I have given Julia one of the birds I spoke with during my last usage of the Tau Cross, so communication should be easy.”

Robespierre had his doubts, but he tried to hide them. The images in the folder were just sketches, but they nauseated him in a way he had never felt before. He was really and truly in danger now, and he wasn’t sure he was up for it. 

Ms. Adlerberg didn’t give him any time to back out, however, and drew forth the Key of Hades, which she drew across her own palm, producing a familiar trail of blood.

“Ms. Adlerberg, why didn’t you use my palm this time? I’ve certainly recovered enough to suffer a few nightmares, and I hate to see a lady suffer needlessly.”

Julia scoffed at that. 

“I’ll have you know that I do nothing without planning, Mr. Robespierre, and if i wished you to bloody your palm for my sake, your palm would have already been bloodied. No, I want you on your toes in Moscow, we’ll be dealing with something incredibly dangerous and I cannot risk you being compromised.

In any case, since the distance we are traveling is much less, the cost in blood and sleepless nights is much less sleep. And worry not, you shall get your chance on the return trip. Utilizing the same person’s palm a second time before the nightmares fade is lethal, make no mistake. The last agent to think they could withstand the key’s power went completely insane and hung themselves.”

With that, Julia stabbed the key into the wide wooden door that led out of the offices and after picking up their bags of tools, mesh, and supplies, two agents stepped into the void.


	4. The Blade of Justice

Preparations had already been made in Moscow, so after being ejected from a large door into an alleyway on the southern side of the city, Robespierre and Julia made their way to the inn, where they were able to unpack. While Julia took a few hours to recover from using the Key, Robespierre began to walk the streets, attempting to get a feel for the city. After a week in St. Petersburg, his schooling in Russian was reinforced enough to hold a conversation, so he struck out to look for clues.

After a few minutes of searching, he could tell that something was wrong, though he could not put his finger on it. Though it was only a little past noon and the sky was clear, few stalls and businesses were open, and even fewer people walked the streets. Losing the distinction of being the capital of Russia had done Moscow a great measure of disservice, a disservice that was apparently reflected even in the faces of the people. Twelve citizens had been murdered on these streets, did the residents know, did they understand what was happening to their countrymen? Or did they only feel a sense of dread and danger, as Robespierre now did?  
In any case, he met with the Moscow contact, who had no further information, and finally returned to the inn, where he had found that Julia had rested enough to feel well and had unpacked their equipment.

“What have you learned?” she asked.

Robespierre sighed.

“The streets are empty, more or less. Our agent here had nothing new, and I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.”

“You didn’t find anything out of the ordinary or there was nothing out of the ordinary.”

He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“There is an odd feeling here, as if some of the life of the city has been lost somehow.”

Julia nodded and stood up, obviously still slightly stressed by the burden of having used the Key.

“Very well. Let us meet with the police then, I have a few questions.”  
The two made their way to the central police station. At this point, Robespierre hung back and let Julia do the talking. As she approached the desk, the policemen stiffened up noticeably. When she addressed them, she was harsh and demanding, using the same voice she had once used with Robespierre.

“Good afternoon gentlemen, I am Special Agent Julia Adlerberg, and this is Special Agent Maximilian Robespierre, we are agents of the Tsar, here conducting an investigation regarding the recent spree of murders. I will require access to your documentation from the last few months, including customs records and missing persons reports.”

At this point, Julia flashed her badge, emblazoned with the same double-headed eagle Robespierre had seen on his invitation to the conference in Munich. Though the police officers were hesitant to comply, it was obvious they understood the power of Warehouse, at least as a matter of procedure. While Julia went into the back to go over the paperwork, Robespierre was drawn to a collection of officers who were sitting at a table in the back, playing cards. Having noticed that the police didn’t respond well to Julia’s approach, Robespierre used a more casual tactic. He slid up a chair and motioned to be dealt a hand. While the police talked, Robespierre nodded and listened carefully, speaking only to ask the occasional question.

Two hours later, Julia exited from the backroom, carrying nothing and wearing a look of disappointment. As she walked out, Robespierre said goodbye to the officers and walked out with her. When they were out of earshot, the two began to talk.

“The records were next to useless. As we’ve expected for years, Moscow police is completely corrupt. Their paperwork is nonexistent, and they’ve gathered even less than our contact has.”

Robespierre nodded in agreement. His casual information gathering had revealed more or less the same facts.

“However, Ms. Adlerberg, I think you’d find it interesting to know that the officers are discontent, as bribes are at an all-time low.”

Robespierre could see the gears turning in Julia’s head as they continued to walk.

“I believe I see what you meant about empty streets, Mr. Robespierre. There is no crime in Moscow, and it isn’t a result of stellar police work.

I think it is time we revisit the victims.”

As the two paged through the file, facts they had missed the first time began to stand out. All twelve were well to do, but not rich, and at least four had been rumored to be in legal trouble, until the charges had been mysteriously dropped. Deciding to gather more information, the agents traveled to the home of the most recent victim’s widow. The woman that answered the door was young, but the experience of losing her husband had aged her in an inexplicable way. Before Julia could unsettle the woman, Robespierre addressed her.

“Good evening madam, I’m Special Agent Robespierre, from St. Petersburg, here investigating your husband’s death. Could we come inside?”

The woman was obviously resistant to the idea, but allowed the team inside anyway.

Once Julia and Robespierre had sat down in the parlor, the three exchanged pleasantries.

“But what else could the police need? I’ve already spoken with the Moscow police, I don’t know anything else!”

Robespierre spoke up again, trying to reassure her.

“I’m sorry madam, but we’re conducting our own investigation. If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to go over the events on the night of your late husband’s death.”

The woman sighed, but began to tell her story. After a few minutes, Julia stood up and professed a degree of illness, insisting that fresh air would help her. After the woman directed her to the garden, Robespierre continued the interview. Ten minutes later, Robespierre had gone over the entire story without learning anything else, and had disappointingly found nothing new. At that time, Julia walked in from the garden and signaled Robespierre to wrap up. He thanked the woman for her time and accompanied Julia out and back into the street.

“Sorry about that Ms. Adlerberg, it appears that we are back to square one. Did you find that the illness passed with your walk in the garden?”

Julia chuckled.

“Mr. Robespierre, you know full well that I possess a constitution that far exceeds your own, usage of the Key notwithstanding. While you were distracting the woman, I was able to take a look around the house, and I think you’ll be quite interested in my findings.”

She produced a set of burglar’s tools and a small purse that jingled.

“I believe the late Mr. Kazakov was hiding a secret from his wife, unless she was in on his illicit dealings as well.”

“I doubt that, she seemed honest enough to me, and her surprise at her husband’s death seemed genuine. Whatever her husband was up to, I don’t think she had any idea.”  
When the two arrived back at the inn, Julia upended the bag and produced a number of golden coins and gems, all obviously valuable.

“This bag only confirms our suspicions, naturally, that our victim was not totally innocent.”

The next day, investigation of the remaining victims revealed much of the same evidence: every one of them was well off, but still engaged in some sort of petty crime, usually theft, trading in stolen goods, or kidnapping. At this point it was obvious to Julia and Robespierre that whatever was killing off these men and women was somehow involved in the police department. While Julia was talking captain about anything out of the ordinary, Robespierre found himself speaking to a young officer working the desk. Ten minutes later, Ms. Adlerberg stormed out of the station, taking Robespierre with him. 

“I take it that your attempt to learn more was futile?”

Julia huffed angrily. Her trademark cool was beginning to break, probably due in part to the Key’s influence on her sleep the night before. There was a darkness in her eyes that scared him. He would remember that darkness when it came him for him to pay the Key’s price again. Robespierre knew that if he wanted to crack the case before there was another death, he would have to dig even deeper. He cleared his throat before saying anything else to her. 

“Why don’t you go back to the inn, I’ve got a lead I’d like to follow up on.”

When Julia had left, Robespierre made his way to an alleyway by the station and climbed up a nearby drainpipe, leading him to the rooftops. There he waited for the young policeman he had spoken with earlier. When the man exited the station, Robespierre began to stalk him, moving as quietly as he could across the rooftops of Moscow, until he finally arrived at the officer’s small hovel on the outskirts of town. It was another thirty minutes before anything happened. 

There in the twilight of Moscow, the cold winds whipped around Robespierre, and he cursed his lack of a cloak. Suddenly, that twilight was broken by a burst of yellow lightning coming from the man’s home. As the man exited his home dressed in a long cloak with a hood, Robespierre could see a glow that surrounded the man, and he felt something in his gut that worried him. 

As he tracked the man through the streets, the feeling only got stronger, until the young man stopped suddenly. Robespierre froze, but when he shifted his weight, he knocked a tile off of the roof. His quarry turned around, the glow around him so intense that it was almost blinding. As the young man lifted his arm, Robespierre could see the artifact, a large spiked ring, clenched in his right hand. The silence of the frozen night was suddenly shattered as the young man screamed something in a language that Robespierre could not understand. Before Robespierre could do anything, the young man cocked his arm and let the disc fly, screaming as he did. 

“You will not obstruct my justice!”

Robespierre’s mind felt cloudy, and he almost dropped to his knees, but at the last minute he dropped to his stomach and rolled out of the way, just as the disc sliced through the masonry of a nearby chimney, cutting it cleanly in two. As the ring reached the end of its flight, it slingshotted back, arriving back in the man’s hand. When the man caught the ring, the yellow light intensified to unbearable levels, and as Robespierre shielded his eyes, he deftly rolled off the roof, landing on the ground with a thud. Though the landing stunned him some, and he wasn’t quite sure he hadn’t sprained something, he forced himself to stand and address the young man. 

“LIsten to me! You’re doing this all wrong! I know things aren’t the way they should be, but what you are doing is wrong! I believe more than anyone else that we need to live in a world of equality and justice, but what you are doing is wrong! Death is not the correct punishment, and you know it!”

The man faltered slightly, and Robespierre could almost see the glow fade, but what he said wasn’t enough. Before the man could throw the disc again, Robespierre reached for his belt and grabbed one of the smoke grenades he had taken from Julia’s bag. When he rolled it across the ground, it exploded with a bang, quickly filling the area with dense smoke. When the man let the disc fly, its glow cut through the smoke, but the shot was wild. In the time Robespierre knew he had, he vaulted into the smoke, landing a solid punch on the young man. As the young man dropped, the disc returned, imbedding itself in the wall behind him, but the fight wasn’t over yet. As the two grappled on the cobbled street, the young man drew a knife, and though Robespierre tried to force the knife away, he wasn’t quite strong enough. When the young man lunged toward him, he leapt off him, and to his feet, getting a safe distance away from the knife. It was then that Robespierre had realized his mistake; the young man was still obviously possessed by the power of the artifact, and he had just given him a chance to recover. As the smoke faded, the young man turned back and began to sprint towards the disc again, both of them still aglow. Knowing he had no other choice, Robespierre ran towards the man, grabbing his left arm and locking it. When the young man lunged towards him with the knife, Robespierre dropped his grip on the left arm and grasped the right, stopping the knife just before his face. With his grip still strong, he threw the young man forward, causing him to crash to the ground and the knife to clatter harmlessly farther down the street. When he confirmed that the young man was out cold, he moved towards the disc, its glow slightly fading. As he put on his gloves, he could feel the power of the artifact call out to him, promising him that it could solve all the world’s ills. When he grasped it, he felt the glove block most of the object’s power, but his mind was still clouded. As he applied force, the disc effortlessly slid out, slicing through the stonework. 

Standing there in the cold Moscow night, Robespierre realized he had made yet another mistake, he had no way of neutralizing the disc. Silently hating himself, he dropped the disc to his side and began the long walk back to the inn, desperately hoping he wouldn’t give in to the artifact’s power before he made it back. 

After he had walked a few blocks, he noticed the disc’s power growing, and he wasn’t sure that he could even take a few more steps without losing his control. There, in that moment of doubt, he heard a set of footsteps, coming from above. Then came the near silent whoosh of a cloak dropping to the ground. 

“You forgot the neutralizer rookie.”

Robespierre grimaced. She was right, of course, and he should be relieved that she was somehow able to come to his rescue, but the darkness was taking hold. He began to feel a pure hate that begged for destruction, and a foreign language flooded his mind. 

Before he could react, however, Julia had stepped towards him and grasped his arm, locking his wrist and elbow and forcing him to release the disk, which dropped to the ground, slicing through a cobblestone. She drew a large piece of the mesh from the bag she was carrying and wrapped the disk gingerly, careful not to let it cut through. As the two made contact, a shower of sparks lept from it, scorching the road and the wall of a nearby building. With the shower of sparks came a wave of clarity to Robespierre’s mind, and he soon felt returned to sanity. When he had mustered up enough will to speak again, he addressed Julia, who had wrapped up the disc was was walking back to the inn.

“What was that?”

“A curiosity, naturally, I had warned you that we dealt in those, had I not?”

Robespierre grinned. Was it possible that Julia was making a joke?  
“But really, what was it that I was fighting?”

Julia took more answer to speak this time, choosing her words carefully.

“While I do not know exactly, since naturally my specialty is in retrieval rather than identification, I could hazard a guess. Though I do not know if you noticed it, you were whispering in ancient Hindi. That, combined with the appearance of the artifact, which is similar to a number of chakram I had the pleasure of using during a trip to India, leads me to believe that we have stumbled upon a Hindi religious artifact of some kind. 

I believe it was attempting to force you to punish the guilty, just as the young police officer was. Had I not stopped you, I am not sure that you would have been able to fight it much longer.”

Robespierre dropped his head in shame. Julia obviously noticed and stopped walking. She instead moved closer to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. Though in the circles Robespierre was used to frequenting, such a gesture was either inappropriate or extremely forward, here it was a sign of camaraderie between two soldiers. 

“Do not blame yourself. No agent is perfect, or capable of taking on every artifact on their own. The fact that you were even able to wrest control of the artifact from the man is amazing, given its extreme power and your limited training. What matters is that we have the artifact now, and we have prevented any future bloodshed.”

She paused here, and when she saw that Robespierre’s face brightened slightly, she continued. 

“However, given the sensitive and dangerous nature of this artifact, I suggest we return as soon as possible to the Warehouse, assuming of course you are well enough to take the burden of the Key.”

When the two arrived back at the inn, they packed up their supplies, careful to keep the disc gently contained in the neutralizing mesh. When Julia produced the Key, Robespierre took it in his hand and dragged it across his palm, feeling his blood leak out and the darkness leak in. Before he could falter, he and Julia stepped out into the hallway that contained their rooms and together jammed the key into a nearby door. When the door slowly opened, all that was there was the now familiar void, staring back. 

The trip back was no more comforting than any trip using the Key of Hades had been before, and Robespierre hated the fact that apparently the sickness of traveling through the void didn’t get any better after multiple trips. 

When they were deposited back at the Warehouse, Robespierre heard the excited calls of Alexander, who ran from one of the adjoining offices to greet them. When Julia handed him the neutralized disc, Alexander took it in his hands, carefully examining it before consulting some nearby books. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Alexander finally looked up to meet the gaze of Julia and Robespierre, who were looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh terribly sorry agents, I was lost in thought for a minute. 

I believe what we have here is the Sudarshana Chakra, legendary weapon of Vishnu himself. Stories of the weapon say that it can cut through anything, and has been used to execute criminals who had otherwise escaped certain justice. I believe it was first recovered during Warehouse 10, but it was lost in the transition to our current iteration of the Warehouse. How it ended up in the hands of a policeman in Moscow is anyone’s guess, Warehouse 10 lasted almost two hundred years, and many of its records were lost.

In any case, you did an excellent job today agents, I’ll expect your reports on the mission tomorrow.”

Relieved at the completion of the mission and drained from using the Key, Robespierre nearly collapsed right there in the office, but managed to muster up enough strength to say goodbye to Julia and Alexander and make his way out of the Warehouse and to his own bed.


	5. Champ de Mars

As the weeks spent in Warehouse 11 turned to months, and then to a full two years, Robespierre longed for his native France. Though he loved traveling the world and neutralizing artifacts, and his bond with Julia had turned to one of real friendship, he knew that his real place was in the world of politics, and that France needed him. In the time between missions, he would occasionally travel to France to sit in on meetings or sit in his office and publish papers, but neither was the same as actually going home for good. And so in early 1791, after going through a long and arduous application process, Robespierre was instated as an exterior Warehouse agent for the country of France. 

Little did Robespierre know that his homesickness would correspond perfectly with upheaval in France, and he would have center stage. 

When the cool French winter turned into a light spring, Robespierre threw himself into his political work completely, hearing nothing from his compatriots at the Warehouse. But not once did he forget Julia and Alexander, or the reality of the world hidden behind the curtain kept safe by the Warehouse. Every morning, as he dressed, he was sure to conceal a pair of Warehouse issue gloves and a set of smoke grenades, and every evening, he checked the cage that would host any birds sent by Alexander and tended to the bird that he could send should he find anything. 

In June, after the arrest of Louis XVI, Robespierre come the closest he ever had to abandoning his Warehouse work completely. He was seeing his vision for a liberated France come true before his very eyes, and it was impossible to ignore. When July rolled around, Robespierre delighted in the clear skies and barely complained of the heat wave, as he had never gotten accustomed to the Russian winters anyway. 

But the idyllic life of a French political didn’t last as long as Robespierre had hoped. On the evening of July 15th, 1791, Robespierre woke up with a sweat, consumed by a feeling of dread that he knew was coming courtesy of an artifact. He quickly composed a letter and attached it to the falcon that Alexander had fortified with the power of St. Francis of Assisi’s Tau Cross. Though he wasn’t sure what it was that he was detecting, he knew it was bad, and powerful enough to affect him from such a distance. 

When he returned to his home on the evening of July 16th, he found Julia impatiently waiting for him. They greeted each other with a handshake that turned into a tearful embrace. Though she would never admit it, she missed him terribly, even in the small time he was away. He told her that he was sorry to report he had no new information, and that the feeling had not passed. That night, she slept in his bed, and he slept in his parlor, completely uncaring if any rumors spread of him entertaining a lady afterhours. Even if it was for a short time, he had his partner back, and the game was afoot, just like before. 

But that night, Robespierre did not sleep soundly, for the dread inspired by the proximity to an unneutralized artifact had become so intense that he could do nothing else than patrol the streets and watch the pained face of the sleeping Julia, who had just made a massive jump with the Key to respond to him in time. Robespierre himself had taken a series of steamboats and carriages back to France, and though it had taken him a very long time to return to Paris, he was sure that it was worth not experiencing the twisted darkness of the Key, especially at the intensity Julia just had. 

As the sun crept into the sky, Julia awoke, still visibly distressed, but much more stable and able to work. Robespierre envied her stamina. After the two had eaten and dressed, they walked the streets of Paris, looking for the artifact. Though they still found nothing, the streets was undeniably alive with a revolutionary spirit, though not the one that Robespierre had wanted to foster. The people were angry, like a pot that was about to boil over, and Robespierre feared that violence might erupt soon, with or without an artifact’s influence. 

At 8 o'clock, the streets filled with announcements that the National Constituent Assembly had decided to continue the rule of Louis XVI, despite his recent arrest. Robespierre himself was outraged, but he contained himself. The liberty of France would not be established with rage or destruction, and he had a job to do. As the team made their way to Champ de Mars, they noticed a large crowd, all signing a petition to remove the king. Though there was still no violence, Robespierre felt uneasy. When the marquis de Lafayette marched towards the crowd, they dispersed, but not without a large amount of swearing and grumbling. 

Julia and Robespierre stayed around, watching for the appearance of an artifact, for Robespierre's dread had only increased in proximity to the crowd, and neither agent believed in coincidence. As the sun inched towards the middle of the sky, the dispersed crowd began to regroup, angrier than ever. 

The first clue that something was wrong was the demeanor of the crowd. Though these were angry men, they were still civilized and politically minded. But as the day wore on, they lost any sentiment of political interest, and were consumed by a pure rage. The second clue was the protestors had started shouting nonsense, demanding chariot races and the victory of the “blues”. As Robespierre pushed his way through the intensified crowd, he noticed that many of the protesters were carrying gold coins, some of which were glowing with the familiar sickening glow of an active artifact. He tried to wrest a few away, but the protesters began to respond violently, pushing him to the edges of the crowd. He called to Julia.

“Ms. Adlerberg! I believe our curiosity may have taken the form of the coins they carry!”

When she walked over, it was obvious she had solved at least part of the mystery.

“Did you get a good look at the coins?”

Robespierre shook his head and Julia spoke up again.

“Well I did, they appear to be ancient, and the art looks Byzantine. I have a theory, but I am not entirely sure how much it will help us.

In the year 532, the two political parties of Constantinople, the Blues and the Greens, came together to revolt against the Emperor, Justinian. As the riots intensified, Justinian made one last attempt to quell the riots in the eleventh hour. He had a popular eunuch distribute a large bag of gold to a murderous mob of Blues. In secret, Justinian convinced the Blues to betray the Greens, and when the Blues abandoned the Greens, he had his Imperial troops slaughter over thirty thousand rioters, as well as every senator that had betrayed him and the new emperor that the rioters were attempting to crown.”

Robespierre listened carefully. 

“So what, you think somehow the gold was recollected and became an artifact?”

Julia let out a small sigh. 

“I did tell you I wasn’t sure how much my theory would help. But until we come up with a better theory, let us assume that the rioters that are carrying the coins are under the influence of the artifact, which has somehow bent their will to the politics of their leader.”

Robespierre frowned. 

“Then what do we do?”

“We find the leader, the one that holds the bag.”

The two pushed to the front of the crowd, where Robespierre found two familiar faces, one holding a frayed leather bag, the other carrying an oddly shaped shield. As the second lifted the shield, a crack of thunder sounded, despite the sky being perfectly clear, and a harsh glow came over every member of the riot. 

Robespierre called out to the two leaders.

“Danton! Camille! You must stop what you are doing!”

Danton chuckled and lifted the leather bag higher into the air, which elicited a cheer from the crowd behind him.

“Robespierre! My good friend! Why should I stop now, the liberation of France is at hand! God himself has bestowed these objects of power to us, and I see no reason not to use them!”

Robespierre’s agent instincts kicked in.

“Danton you must listen to me. You are toying with powers far beyond your control. I do not know how you gained control of these objects, but they are not for human use, they are far too dangerous.”

At this point, Camille, his eyes filled with lightning, pushed Robespierre back with the shield, delivering a shock in the process. Danton laughed again. 

“I know that you too wish to see the death of the king, why should we not use every means at our disposal?”

Robespierre grimaced. He had seen that look in the eyes of an artifact user before. It was a look of ignorance, a look of a man consumed with power he did not understand, paying a cost he could not bear to know. He tried one last time. 

“Men I must beg you to listen to me. France must make her own revolution, away from the influence of these powers. A new government founded on coercion will not stand.”

Danton and Camille ignored him and continued to march. At this point, the National Guard had moved out once again, and began to fire warning shots above the crowd. When the crowd did not stop, they began to fire into the crowd, but the shots bounced off, deflected by the power of the shield that Camille was carrying. Robespierre looked first to the leather bag, and then to the shield. If he could neutralize the bag first, the citizens would be protected as they disbanded.

But the bag was incomplete without the coins, and the chances of it being successfully neutralized while incomplete were near zero, so he would have to go for the shield. People would die, and he might even be labeled a traitor to the cause. 

But Warehouse work came first, always.

Didn’t it?

Julia broke his trance by yelling to him and gesturing to the National Guard, who was almost within striking distance of the crowd. 

“Mr. Robespierre I’m afraid you need to do something now!”

Without any further prompting, Robespierre rushed Camille, attempting to knock him to the ground. But his attempt was unsuccessful, and when Robespierre crashed into the shield, he felt another shock, this time much more intense. But he had drawn Camille’s interest just long enough for Julia to strike. A blow to the back of the neck and the inside of the knees dropped Camille to the ground, causing him to lose control of the shield and the glow around the protestors to fade. Robespierre quickly sprang to his feet and put on his gloves, which allowed him to safely handle the shield. Meanwhile, Julia moved to Danton and managed to wrest the bag away from him, knocking him to the ground as well. She attempted to direct the crowd away from the Guard, but she felt the will of Danton still persist in the bag, and much of the crowd still pushed forward, while those uninfluenced by the coins began to disperse, running in fear. 

Robespierre grabbed Julia, and with both artifacts under control, the two escaped as the roar of rifle fire surrounded them, striking down protesters left and right. The team hid in a nearby alley until the rioting died down and the gunfire stopped, and when they returned to the scene, the National Guard had left, leaving fifty dead on the grass. In each of their hands, Julia and Robespierre found a golden coin, which they carefully collected and placed in the leather bag. When the last coin had been placed in the bag, it sealed itself, apparently contented. When both artifacts had been neutralized, Julia and Robespierre returned to Robespierre’s room. Robespierre was obviously disturbed, and Julia found him inconsolable. 

She tried to place her hand on his shoulder, but he only shrugged it off, so she simply spoke to him.

“You know that the duty to the Warehouse comes first. I told you on your first day that these things end nations, and that is what we prevented today.”

Robespierre felt an anger rising in him.   
“What we failed to prevent was the slaughter of fifty of my countrymen who are now dead because I insisted on stopping their revolution, the very revolution that I supported!

And moreover, you promised me a world of endless wonder, and I have found nothing but pain here, the pain of loss, the pain of isolation, and the pain of guilt. How many have died since I started working with you? How many more will die in our attempts to remove these artifacts from the world?”

Julia turned harsh now, she did not take kindly to her life’s work being challenged. 

“You think that I have not seen the same abominations you have a thousand times over? You think that I do not hate the blood I have on my hands just as much? I do this work because I believe in it, and I know that you used to as well. You made a choice today to stop two extremely dangerous artifacts. Did your stomach not quake when you saw them? Do not think I forgot the dread you told me you see when you see one of them. Your dread is logical Robespierre, for in your soul you know that these things are wrong, and they do not belong with civilians.

And never forget that every artifact has a cost.” 

That speech cooled Robespierre a little, but he still felt a massive guilt.

“Well Ms. Adlerberg, how much longer will you be staying?”

“The immense distance I traveled with the Key is still having its effect, naturally. I will be safe to return in two week’s time, unless you wish to accompany me. You are always welcome at the Warehouse.”

Robespierre huffed. 

“You may stay here for two weeks, I will find other residence. Send a falcon to Alexander with my regards, and don’t expect to speak to me any time soon.”

With that, he left his own home, stopping only to pack up a few cases of clothing and personal effects, leaving Julia stunned and holding the leather bag in one hand and the Greek shield in the other. As he stepped through the threshold, she neutralized them, the waves of sparks illuminating the entire building.


	6. Traitors

Robespierre did not return to his home, and instead moved to the home of Maurice Duplay, a cabinetmaker who lived near the center of Paris. During his days, he continued his political work, and at night he would entertain, catching the eye of Maurice's eldest daughter in the process.

But old habits die hard, and though he had successfully removed the man from the Warehouse, he could not remove the Warehouse from the man. He was constantly on the lookout for artifacts, and while he did not consider himself an agent any longer. He was no longer concerned with the integrity of Warehouse 11, it was Paris he was devoted to now. 

A month after he left Julia in his old home, he received a falcon carrying a Warehouse envelope. Robespierre resigned himself to ignoring it, but his curiosity eventually got the best of him. What he read did not delight him. Apparently, Emperor Justinian’s coins and the shield, which had been discovered to be Zeus’ Aegis, were, like the Chakra, artifacts lost in the transition from Warehouse 10 to Warehouse 11, suggesting that perhaps there was some actual leak. Later letters would warn Robespierre of counter agents in France and the potential risk of an artifact black market, but he ignored them. If an artifact appeared, he would neutralize it, but he wasn’t doing the Warehouse’s work anymore. 

After another month, Robespierre began to feel the itch of artifact hunting, but subdued it. He reminded himself that he true allegiance was to the French Revolution and nothing else. His time was thus divided between keeping France away from war with Austria and subduing the militaristic forces of the revolution while still occasionally spending time with Éléonore, who proved to be an agreeable companion, especially in the political arena. 

And so in March of 1792, he found himself alone yet again with the eldest Duplay. That night, like many others before it, they stayed up until the early hours, talking of politics and strategy. But with each discussion, Éléonore drew closer, until she was pressed up against him. As she lifted her hand to stroke his face, he whispered to her. 

“Miss Duplay, you do me a great honor, it is not every man who finds a beautiful mind enclosed in such an elegant body.”

With that, she leaned into him and they kissed passionately. Foregoing any semblance of normality, Robespierre traced his hands across her sides, feeling her curves beneath her tightly laced bodice. They feel asleep there in the parlor, only to be awoken by the harsh rays of the Parisian sun cutting through the windows. 

Their affair so continued for many weeks, with the two meeting in secret after hours in the parlor or in Robespierre’s chamber. Their intimacy knew no bounds, but even after a particularly pleasurable evening, they would always find time to talk politics and discuss strategy. It was not only a lover that Robespierre found in Éléonore but a friend and a confidant. 

On the night of March 31st, comfortable in the embrace of Éléonore, his limbs entwined with hers, Robespierre’s mind was once again violated with the dread that could only have come from an artifact. He leapt up and moved to get dressed.

“Max, come back to bed, what’s possessed you.”  
He looked back at her, tempted deeply by her beautiful form. 

“I am so sorry my dear Éléonore, but there are some things you do not know about me that I cannot share, not yet.”

With that, he exited the Duplay residence, dressed in a long cloak that obscured his face. Sewn into the lining of the cloak was a pair of Warehouse issue gloves, a number of smoke grenades, a long thin blade, and enough mesh to neutralize a few small artifacts. 

He stalked through the streets, eventually ending up in the warehouse district. He climbed a nearby building and picked out the building that he had the worst feeling about. From his vantage point, he could see the entrance to the warehouse, and his gut feeling was vindicated when he watched a fellow hooded figure move forward, holding something in both arms. Moving as quickly as he could, Robespierre climbed down a nearby downspout and jumped to the ground, landing carefully. He saw the figure pick the lock on the door and move in, looking around but missing Robespierre, who had hidden in the shadows. When Robespierre glimpsed into the warehouse, he saw piles of munitions and gunpowder, and he knew he didn’t have much time. 

Sticking to the shadows, Robespierre crept towards the entrance to the Warehouse. As the man lifted the object above his head, Robespierre could make out the shape of an ornate vase, and was sure he had found his artifact. Wasting no time, he rushed the man, pinning him against the doorframe while keeping the vase aloft.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” the man yelled at him.  
“I’m stopping you from making a massive mistake!” shouted Robespierre. 

“You’re working with something I’m sure you don’t understand, and we need to neutralize that thing...now!”

The man managed to shove Robespierre backwards, and with a single heft, he threw the vase into the warehouse, where it shattered with a clatter. Immediately, a rumbling began, centered under the warehouse. The man turned back to Robespierre. 

“I think that vase is going to do exactly what I was told it was going to do, and blow this whole place sky high. I was paid a pretty penny to do this, and I’m sure the vase wasn’t too cheap either. It came from Pompeii you see, somehow it had gathered up all the explosive power of the volcano and bound it together. All I know is it’s gonna make one hell of an explosion.” 

The rumbling turned into a raging inferno that evolved into an explosion, quickly consuming the warehouse and destroying all the munitions. Robespierre rolled as far as he could and watched from a safe distance, but the man stayed by the warehouse, transfixed by the blaze, laughing maniacally. In a manner of minutes, the entire warehouse was ashes, and its contents were completely gone. All that was left was a collection of shards that was once the vase. Without warning, the man dropped to the ground, clutching his temples. Robespierre watched his mouth and could see he was trying to scream, but no words were coming out. After only a few moments, the man dissolved, leaving nothing, and the shards in the middle of the wreckage rebuilt themselves into a perfect replica. 

Robespierre grimaced, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. Penalties were part of the game, and casual users tended to suffer greatly. He wouldn’t have been surprised if whoever had hired the man had known of this particular drawback, and had planned it all along. After all, had Robespierre not came along, there wouldn’t have been any witnesses, and the incident could have been blamed as the work of loyalists, or Austrians. 

After taking a minute to steel himself, he walked over to the vase and after putting on his gloves picked the vase up. Though he expected it to be red hot, it was ice cold, almost painfully so, but gloves insulted him enough to allow him to carry it. He set it down as carefully as he could and ripped a few lengths of mesh out of his cloak before wrapping up the vase in it. When the vase emitted a blinding shower of sparks that he was fairly sure would have been visible from anywhere he Paris, he knew his work was done. 

Thankfully, Robespierre was not the only agent in France, and he only had to wait a few hours at the entrance to his old home before someone came to pick up the now-neutralized vase. He didn’t even bat an eye at the level of surveillance the Warehouse must have still held on him, he didn’t care. When he was asked for a field report or any further information, Robespierre only waved the agent away. He had to remind himself he wasn’t working for the Warehouse anymore, he was working for France, and France alone. 

When he returned to the Duplay residence that morning, Éléonore was cold and refused to speak to him. He hoped that she would one day forgive him, and maybe even understand the burden he carried, knowing the things he did. But for now he would continue his work, both artifact related and otherwise. 

It took three days for Éléonore to speak to him again, and another week before they shared a bed again. Though she had not forgiven him, she had at least brushed it aside, accepting that it was a part of him she did not have the ability to understand just yet. 

But try as Robespierre might to avoid the siren call of artifact hunting, when the dread pitted in his stomach, there was little he could do to resist. In the meantime, the explosion at the warehouse had primed the Legislative Convention with the ammunition they needed to declare war on Austria, with the politicians insisting the explosion had been caused by Austrian spies. 

Robespierre had found himself working with Danton once again, simply in the interest of keeping the Jacobin Club alive and keeping the revolution of France stable. Him and Danton never spoke of the incident at Champ de Mars, and Robespierre remained unsure if Danton had been swayed by the power of the artifact, and did not remember the confrontation there, or if there were layers of intrigue, and Danton was simply keeping their squabble regarding the artifacts out of the public eye. 

Whatever the case, Robespierre couldn’t risk another artifact attack again, and he couldn’t count on his gut to warn him early enough, especially after being too late last time. It was obvious there was another power at work in Paris, and Robespierre needed to get to the bottom of it. Much to Éléonore’s disgust, he started spending more nights on patrol, stalking the streets of Paris for artifacts. 

When reports from the Legislative Assembly were being lost and orders were being rewritten, Robespierre decided to investigate, fearing artifacts were at work again. He began by tracking the written orders from the Assembly to their destinations. Though each time the letters made their way to the destination without even being opened, many of the orders were still fouled up or reversed. Unsatisfied and even more confused, Robespierre followed another series of communiques, this time carefully watching the couriers. Though at no time did the letters get switched out, he noticed one of the messengers would tap a old quill pen onto each other letters before passing it on. Since the quill left no mark, Robespierre couldn’t help but think that an artifact was involved. When the man passed on the batch of letters, Robespierre snuck up behind him, drawing his blade but keeping it concealed under his cloak. 

When he was within striking distance, Robespierre wrapped his arm around the man’s neck, placing his hand on his mouth, and dragged the man into a nearby alley. When the two were out of sight of the main streets, Robespierre spoke to the man. 

“I know that you are betraying France, and I have a fairly good idea of how you are doing it. I just may allow you to live, if you cooperate. But rest assured, I am extremely competent in the realm of combat, and this knife is very sharp.”

It only took a few moments of interrogation for the man to break. He was a royalist who had been given the pen via package, with instructions on how to use it to destabilize the democratic movement. Robespierre roughed the man up, confiscated the pen, and left the man tied for the police to find. In his Warehouse days, he would have let the man go, but a traitor to his beloved France couldn’t be given a free pass. 

When he investigated the pen, he found the initials “B A” inscribed near the tip, and the occasional testing revealed that the pen scrambled any piece of paper it touched, giving false information and misleading orders. The tell-tale sign of the artifact’s use was a faint signature that Robespierre had missed on the other doctored letters, the signature of Benedict Arnold. 

This time, Robespierre decided to take the initiative to send the pen to the Warehouse, along with a note describing the suspicions he had regarding the massive leak of artifacts into France. The more he investigated it, the more he was sure that something greater than him and the Warehouse and even the French Revolution was going on in the background. 

When he returned to his bed that night, Éléonore was nowhere to be found, and he hadn’t seen her in several days now. He went to sleep alone and frustrated. He had come to adore Éléonore, but there was no question that she needed to be kept from the horrendous world which he managed on a nearly daily basis. 

Or was there? 

The next morning, he awoke to her beautiful frame, highlighted by the rising sun pouring in from his doorway. She was upset, that much was understandable. 

“Maximilien Robespierre you are not leaving this room until I get an explanation for what you have been up to.” she insisted, not giving him much grounds for excuses. 

He sighed, afraid for what she would think of him if she knew the truth. Would she call him insane or simply think he was lying. 

“My dearest Éléonore I cannot tell you. The truth is too complex and dangerous for you to know. I can only ask that you trust me.”

Her mouth folded into a small frown, enough to display her continued displeasure. An instant later, she had crossed the room and moved to the bed. As she placed one hand on the bed just to his right side, she lied down on top of him, pinning him to the bed. She moved her mouth to near his ear and whispered this time. 

“You will tell me exactly what is going on or I will leave you, never to be seen again. I refuse to be just another facet of your life Robespierre, you have shared everything with me, why is it that you keep this one thing secret?”

He had never shared his Warehouse work with anyone outside the business, it simply wasn’t done. Julia had told her husband, which did make it much easier for her to excuse herself when there was work to be done, but Robespierre was afraid for Éléonore’s safety. The artifact world was a dangerous one, and he didn’t want her harmed. 

But he relented.

“What I am about to tell you will change you for the rest of your life.”

After sitting up and breathing deeply, he told her the whole story, from the letter he received years ago to the pen he retrieved the night before. He told her tales of artifacts that could ensnare the will of a man, make the impossible possible, or destroy a nation. 

And she trusted him, implicitly and without question. For hours they sat together in that room, with Robespierre only stopping his story to explain something or answer her questions. She nodded as she carefully listened, and Robespierre fought not to be entranced by her beauty. He had missed her dearly.

When he finished his story, the two sat there in silence. She placed her soft hand on his shoulder and spoke once more.

“How can I help?” she asked, her voice sounding almost musical to his ears. 

Though Robespierre was hesitant to involve a civilian in the artifact business, Éléonore picked up the work quickly. He never brought her into the field and never exposed her to an un-neutralized artifact, but she helped in her own way, delivering packages and messages and more importantly acting as a second pair of eyes and ears in France, always on the lookout for the warning signs that Robespierre had supplied her with. They were a excellent team, almost as excellent as Robespierre and Julia had been. But he banished that thought from his head. Those times were over now.


	7. The Flood

At first the noise outside his window was just a part of his dream. The scraping of steel against rock was annoying, but nothing out of the ordinary. But as he drifted slowly into the waking world, the noise became strange, and more importantly, threatening. 

As he wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked down at the window, he had only a second to leap back as a figure leapt through the window, shattering it in the process. When he dropped his arm from shielding his eyes, he managed a look at his unwelcome visitor: she was a small girl dressed in a long black cloak. But it was what was in her hands that was strange. In one hand she held a thick curved knife that shone brightly, illuminated half of her underneath the cloak, while in the other hand she held a small pointed knife that swallowed up the light, darkening her features on the other half. 

Robespierre acted quickly to the danger, grabbing a knife of his own from his bedside table and dropping his stance slightly. He was by no means a skilled knife fighter, but if he could hold her off long enough to get to his tool kit, he felt he might have a chance. He and the woman circled each other briefly until Robespierre’s back was to the door. 

“Might I know who I have the pleasure of entertaining this morning?” he asked, stalling for time, hoping Éléonore had been woken by the shattering of the glass. 

The woman’s laugh was short and cruel just like her knives. 

“I am Cécile Renault, and I’m afraid you’re already quite familiar with me, or at least my work. You see, I am a vendor of certain objects of power, and you have been a thorn in my side for a number of months now.” she said, not dropping her guard for an instant. 

Robespierre grimaced. 

“I see you remember, excellent. This way you’ll know what you’re paying for. Since we have been in contest for so long, it would be impolite to let you shuffle off this mortal coil without at least explaining to you what you will fail to prevent.”

She let off another cruel laugh.

“You see, I have been paid to bring your precious revolution to an end. After your council decides for execution of the king, the events I have already set in motion will destroy the National Assembly and leave France a shell. When, in a little over two hours, the time for the king’s execution comes, he will be spared, and the crowd will be slain.

And perhaps more importantly, the resulting chaos will bring about more business for me. And I do so ever love chaos...and business.”

“I will stop you.” announced Robespierre, not so sure that he could.

“I highly doubt that, Monsieur Robespierre, because I am going to kill you. Do you like my knives? They’re my favorites from the objects I’ve collected over the years. The sun is a ancient Egyptian piece, while the moon is a kunai from 16th Japan. I think they make quite the set if I do say so myself.” 

With that, Robespierre threw his weight against the door behind him, bursting into the hallway of the Duplay residence. 

“Éléonore we are under attack! I need my bag and for you to escape post haste!” he screamed, praying that she was prepared. 

Cécile closed the distance almost immediately, striking at Robespierre with the dark pointed knife, leaving a jagged tear down his right arm. A moment later, he felt not just the searing pain of the wound but a darker, deeper pain that seemed to eat at his very bones. He almost looked down at his arm, but instead continued to run, making his way to Éléonore’s room where he had stashed his other toolkit with Cécile right behind him. 

In that instant, Éléonore burst from her room, throwing the toolkit to Robespierre in the process. He caught it as he was running and spun around to face Cécile, who was immediately behind him. As she struck at him again, he lifted up a piece of mesh to block her attack, causing the small dark knife to emit a shower of sparks. It hadn’t been neutralized, but Robespierre had at least deflected the attack. As Cécile recoiled, he dug into the bag again, producing a smoke grenade that he pulled the pin from and rolled across the floor in a single motion. As Cécile choked on the smoke, Robespierre took Éléonore’s hand and began to run for the door. 

“Not so fast monsieur.” she cackled. Out of the smoke cloud came the golden knife, literally cutting through the smoke with its glow. Robespierre managed to dodge the attack, but the knife was embedded in Éléonore’s back. When Robespierre turned around, the smoke was beginning to dissipate, but his attacker was lifted the black knife, causing a veil of darkness to fill the Duplay residence. Robespierre only blinked for an instant and the woman was gone. 

At was at this time he turned to his love, extracting the knife from her back carefully using a pair of gloves. But when he looked into her eyes, he knew something was terribly wrong. Her face was ghost white and tinged with a sickly green, suggesting that the artifact had did something to her. When she finally spoke, her words were slow and labored. Death was imminent. 

“Robespierre, my darling...” she whispered with her last breaths.

“Promise me you’ll escape, that at least one of us will live to see tomorrow.”

But Robespierre only shook his head.

“My sweet Éléonore, you know I cannot. My duties to France, and whatever remaining allegiance to the Warehouse depends on me stopping this madwoman’s plans, no matter the cost...”

Éléonore let out a cough that was raspy and spit up a small amount of blood. 

“Then you were right, the truth was too dangerous for me to know. I could never hope to live in your world, nor serve it with the dedication that you do. And with my last moments I shall die knowing that you chose that world over my last wishes for you.” she spoke bitterly, her words lacking any trace of the sweetness or loveliness that Robespierre had become accustomed to. 

Her last breath shattered Robespierre completely. Not only was his first and only great love dead, but she died disappointed. Robespierre felt an immense sorrow that turned quickly to rage. 

Vengeance was necessary. 

He stood up and stepped over her body, stopping only to retrieve his bag from beside her body and the rest of his tools from his room. As the clock struck eight, he heard an explosion that shook all of Paris and saw a plume of smoke coming from the National Convention. It took only a few more minutes for the screams of the people to begin to echo through the streets. 

But Robespierre could not stop, for he knew the worst was to come. Though there was no doubt the majority of the leaders of the revolution were now dead or incapacitated, the execution would go on, at least that was the word of the street. Now wading through the crowd, Robespierre fought his way to the Revolution Square.  
When the clock struck nine, Louis XVI’s carriage began the journey to the Square, where the crowd awaited. A force of three hundred men had attempted to save the king from his execution and were stopped, but not without further bloodshed. There was fighting in the streets now, and not only between royalists and revolutionaries, but between any two men that distrusted each other. Robespierre felt overwhelmed and tried to tune out the chaos, looking for an artifact or anything behind the scenes. Though he knew that everything was falling apart, the worst was yet to come, he was sure of it. He found himself engaging in more than a few fistfights as he moved through the square, urged on by a feeling of dread that insisted to him that whatever was about to happen would take place at the center stage. 

By the time he reached the platform upon which Louis XVI would be executed, he was tired, bruised, and still in a great amount of pain from the wound delivered by Cécile. Just before the clock struck ten, he spied a cloaked figure, surrounded in a familiar dark smoke perched on the roof of a nearby building. As Louis XVI exited his carriage, bound and escorted by guards, Robespierre could only watch in horror as Cécile drew from her cloak a large scroll. As she read from the scroll, the ground began to shake, and with her last word, she threw the scroll into the air, at which it burst into flames. 

Then, without warning, massive pillars covered in steel spikes rose from the ground. The quick were able to get out of the way with only a few scratches, while the unlucky found themselves sliced to ribbons in the forest of blades. In the madness that followed, most of the guards that were escorting Louis XVI were slain, and Louis himself was able to escape. 

As quickly as they came, however, the spikes retreated back into the ground, leaving only the bodies of the slain and the bloody ground in their stead. 

From the rooftop Robespierre could hear Cécile addressing him.

“Did you like that one? The scroll was a relic from the Tang Dynasty of China! It promised to summon the Mountain of Blades from the First Circle of Hell, and I suppose it did!”

She was shrieking now, driven mad by a combination of bloodlust and power. The crowd was recovering now and was making a move towards Louis, who himself appeared strangely calm in the bedlam around him. As soon as the spikes retreated, he had started running from the crowd, and a with his few minutes head start, he made it to the building that Cécile was standing on. Though he looked tired and malnourished from his time in captivity, he spoke with a dark fire in his eyes, addressing his subjects.

“It is with great sorrow that I address you now, my people...”

They started throwing things at him, anything they could find, but nobody could reach him.

“You have tried your best to ruin France, and I must tell you that you have failed. So now we shall have a purging flood that shall rival the Biblical downpour. And I shall purify France, just as God purified the Earth!

With great pride I announce to you now...

Je suis le deluge!”

With that, Louis removed a small wooden ring from his finger, throwing it into the crowd. From it sprang a massive geyser of water which quickly began to fill the square. Citizens that touched the water began to choke, grasping at their throats for air that would not come. Robespierre simply ran, a distraught and broken man. 

It was five minutes later that he felt a reassuring hand on his arm, and when to face the arm’s owner, he found the face of Julia Adlerberg, obviously strained. Robespierre found himself unable to speak, but Julia had enough words for them both. 

“I trailed you from the square. I saw everything that happened, and I’m sorry that we couldn’t stop it. The Warehouse sent me after the explosion earlier this morning, but we didn’t have enough intel to stop all this, let alone to know who was in charge.

But never mind that now, we have to get you out of here. Are you badly hurt?”

Wordlessly, Robespierre showed her his arm, which was now partially blackened by a pigment that had spread out from the cut on his right arm.

“I have had a rather terrible day, I must confess.”

Julia tutted. 

“I imagine we can get that fixed at the Warehouse, hopefully you are well enough to sustain a usage of the Key.”

Robespierre nodded and the two moved towards a door at the end of the alleyway. As they approached the door, Julia handed him the key, but as he grasped it, he felt a spasm of pain in right arm, forcing him to drop the key. As it clattered to the ground, he felt a feeling of dread and spun around to find Cécile, partially shrouded in darkness, standing at the entrance to the alleyway. 

“Feeling the poison are you? Both of my knives manufacture their own poison, which makes gloves a necessity of course. Your lady friend received a much more potent dose, but I’ve always been a fan of the kunai’s brand. It causes much more pain and is rather debilitating.”

Under the woman’s feet, the water from the wooden ring continued to flow, covering a large part of Paris at this point. 

“The water, on the other hand, comes from a particularly delicious artifact that I picked up from a supplier in the Ottoman Empire. It’s crafted from the same wood as Noah’s Ark you see. Though the water doesn’t spread out quite as fast or as far as I would have liked, soon most of Paris will be underwater enough that the rabble will be drowned, and more importantly I will be paid.”

Robespierre knew he should have simply picked up the key again and left Paris, but something compelled him to say. Perhaps it was loyalty for the smoking crater that was the revolution, or perhaps it was simply the compulsion to extract revenge. 

“Robespierre ignore her! Get the key! This battle is lost!” Julia shouted to him. 

But instead he charged forward, attacking Cécile with his bare fists. 

It was a mistake, and the logical part of his brain knew that. But the logical part wasn’t in control right now. 

Cécile dodged the first punch effortlessly and caught Robespierre’s second punch in her thick gloves. Before he could react, she grabbed him and slammed him against the brick wall of the alleyway and then flipped him, causing him to crash onto the flooded Paris street.

As soon as his bare skin touched the ground, he felt his lungs seize up and is vision darken. As he gasped for breath that would not come, his last conscious moments were spent listening to the fight between Julia and Cécile, and soon all he knew was the damp embrace of drowning.


	8. The Reset

When Robespierre regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was that he felt the chill that he still associated with the Key of Hades, though he felt much better than he remembered feeling after a transit like that. 

The second thing he noticed was that he was in the Warehouse, lying on a couch in one of the offices. As he glanced down to his arm, he saw that the scratch had mostly healed and much of the blackness that had corrupted his skin had receded.

It was about that moment that he remembered what had happened. 

“Julia! Alexander! Where are you? We need to get back to France! We need to save Paris!” he called out, his voice almost turned a shriek by his panic. 

Once his screams faded, Alexander walked through the doorway, the trademark smile completely gone from his face, replaced by the terrifying blankness of despair. 

“You made quite a mess Agent Robespierre.” Alexander said, speaking more disdainfully than Robespierre had ever heard him speak before.

Robespierre wanted to explain himself, to convey his allegiance to France and his regret. He wanted to apologize to Julia and Alexander for leaving them, he wanted them to understand what drove him. 

But when he opened his mouth, Alexander inturrupted him.

“I’m not done yet.” he said, his voice terrifyingly quiet now.

“Agent Adlerberg managed to retrieve the Key and rescue you from the artifact hunter, but she didn’t risk using your blood, opting instead to us hers for the return trip. When she arrived, she told me that you had been poisoned and drowned, and that she feared that the Key would kill you outright, so she took the risk using it a second time.

Since then you have been asleep. I have used every healing and cleansing artifact I could find and safely use. You have been unconscious for nearly 12 hours now.”

It took a moment for Robespierre to realize what all that meant.

“Where is she now?” he asked, petrified to hear the answer.

Alexander at first could only respond by shaking his head, but after clearing his throat he spoke up.

“She herself fell unconscious after speaking to me, and has refused to wake. Her heart rate is nearly nothing, and her breathing has all but stopped. That sort of exposure to the Key should have killed her, but it appears that instead she will be condemned to a life spent in bed, unable to wake, constantly tormented.”  
He could barely speak now.

“When you have recovered fully, you will take your leave from this Warehouse, never to return to it or France. We thought we could trust you as an outside agent, or at least as an ally, but it appears that we were wrong. You cannot imagine the work I went through to convince the Regents not to kill you immediately after you refused to return with Agent Adlerberg. 

But now I see that my trust was in vain, as you have managed to nearly kill yourself, but doom your partner and destroy all of Paris.”

“But I didn’t do any of that! I tried to stop it the best I could! I did not know of the plot until it was too late, I swear!” Robespierre cried, trying to defend himself. 

Alexander scoffed. 

“And what if you had cooperated with us the entire time? Do you not think that we could have found this mysterious woman before today?

But it does not matter now, France is lost. First is the security of the Warehouse, and I will not endanger it any more with your presence or further interaction with the artifact hunter. The Regents have approved my plan to recall our field agents and focus on protection of the Warehouse, and that starts with you leaving.”

With that, Alexander turned and left, leaving Robespierre alone in the office. When he was sure that Alexander was gone, he leapt up and went to the Warehouse floor. As he moved through the shelves, he muttered to himself, sure that he could find something to change all that had happened, something to make all this okay. 

Finding nothing of suitable power on the floor, he moved towards the back of the Warehouse and down a staircase, to where Alexander kept the more powerful and dangerous artifacts, but Robespierre found himself stopped by a large clockwork mechanism, kept shut by a lock that required a ten-digit password input through clockwork dials. 

Only partially discouraged, and still consumed by a wish to make things right, Robespierre moved back up the stairs, searching out an artifact that he and Julia had collected in Germany a number of years ago. Six aisles down and two over, he found what he was looking for: the toolkit of Fredrich von Knauss, a celebrated German watchmaker. He extracted the the small hammer in the kit, which he knew could manipulate any piece of clockwork effortlessly, and moved back down the stairs. 

But just as he was about to strike the mechanism in front of him, he heard a set of footsteps coming down the stairs behind him. When he turned around, he saw Alexander, staring him down and brandishing a flintlock pistol. 

“Robespierre step away from the door.”

Robespierre froze in place but held his ground.

Alexander shook his head.

“Ex-Agent Maximilien Robespierre...return the hammer, step away from the door and leave immediately, or I will kill you. I hold in my hands Marin le Bourgeoy’s very first flintlock pistol. This weapon strikes with unerring accuracy, make no mistake. You know that you are making the fool’s move here Max. Mistakes were made, people were lost, but it doesn’t have to keep happening. Every time we involve an artifact the situation can only worsen. We keep these things behind closed doors because we must! Because the world isn’t ready for them! If you go into that room and use anything in there, you are making the selfish choice. You will no longer be working for the Warehouse, or for France, or even for the World, you will only be working for yourself. You will be making the proclamation that you know best, better than anyone before you. 

Are you really willing to make that proclamation?”

Robespierre grimaced, but did not respond. His mind raced through the possibilities, but he couldn’t be discouraged at this point. He had lost too much to give up now, he was sure of it. 

He thoughts flew to the knife he had taken from Éléonore’s back, the weapon that had taken her from him. He was still wearing gloves, and a quick check of his cloak revealed that neither Julia nor Alexander had taken the knife from him, probably out of ignorance. Dare he sacrifice a life in his quest to fix everything else?

“It is not a question of will, my good friend.

It is a question of necessity.”

With that, Robespierre dropped the hammer in his right hand and made a move for his knife, not even bothering to dodge Alexander’s shot at his torso. As the musket ball smacked into Robespierre, he could feel his very flesh tearing, but he did not let up. In a single fluid motion, only partially hindered by the fresh wound, Robespierre let the sun knife fly. It arched across the room, spinning in an elegantly lit circle and burying itself hilt-deep in Alexander’s chest. In a second flash, Alexander dropped to the ground, and before he could even react, the poison of the knife overcame him, turning him the same sickly white with tinge of green that Robespierre had seen less than a day before on Éléonore’s face.

Once he was sure that Alexander too was dead, he moved to confiscate the pistol. Now assured that he was alone in the Warehouse, Robespierre returned to the office, where he located the password for the vault, buried deep in Alexander’s files. Returning then to the vault, he spun the clockwork dials and the massive door creaked open, revealing the innermost vault of the Warehouse. 

As Robespierre walked through the ancient holding place, he saw artifacts he had never dreamed of, each promising something more wild than the next. One promised complete control, body and mind, of another person, while a different promised to give the user the power to kill with a touch. Each was an artifact that on its own could change the course of history in an instant, but the most powerful artifact was at the center, Magellan's Astrolabe. Though it had never been used, the placard next to it promised the user the ability to turn back time itself, rewriting history as the user saw fit. A special note said that it was to be used only in extreme emergencies, but Robespierre only scoffed. The Regents let France herself be destroyed by a madman, how could he trust them to know what was good or bad for the Warehouse? 

No, decision is in the hands of the most powerful, that was the lesson that Robespierre had learned. He had lost so much in the past day, was it possible that he could undo it all?

There was only one way to find out. 

As he lifted the Astrolabe out of its special holding place, he could feel its electrical energy crackle, responding to his touch. He could almost hear it speaking to him, promising him one more chance to do it all over again. As he lifted it into the air with his right hand, he felt almost compelled to spin it with his left, and when he did, the air filled with a golden haze and a slight ringing and he felt himself being dragged back in time.


	9. A Changed Man

When the ringing and haze faded, Robespierre found himself whisked away from the Warehouse and dropped back in his bed, where he was at midnight the day before, 24 hours prior. Immediately he checked his pockets and found the flintlock pistol he had taken from the Warehouse and stored the astrolabe in his coat. 

Once he had gotten his bearings, he thoughts turned to sweet Éléonore. Was it possible that he had brought her back? He ran down the hallway and opened her door carefully. When he looked into her room, he saw her sweet form, asleep and safe in her bed. 

Her safety assured, Robespierre’s heart turned a little darker. His mind flew to revenge. He had just lived 24 hours where his entire world was destroyed. France and the Warehouse betrayed him, and even in her last moments his true love had asked him to abandon France. 

The world, in its chaos, had stabbed Robespierre squarely in the back, and he wasn’t about to let the world get away with it, even if everyone else had forgotten. 

But first, he had to put a stop to Cécile’s plan. Taking the time to grab his toolkit, Robespierre walked out of his home and made his way to the National Convention building. There, he laid in wait, looking out over the streets of Paris. 

An hour later, Robespierre spotted a hooded figure, darting over the rooftops, given away by the shining knife at her side. There was no question that it was Cécile. He followed her as quietly as he could and watched her break into the building. He leapt down to the street and stalked her, strapping a piece of mesh to his left arm and drawing the flintlock in his right hand. When the light in front of him came to a stop, he grabbed a smoke grenade from his belt and rolled it across the floor. This time, in the moment it took Cécile to draw her egyptian knife, Robespierre closed the gap between them, knocking her to the ground and gesturing at her with his pistol. 

The woman let out her cruel laugh and looked him in the eyes. 

“I don’t suppose you are the Robespierre that has been fouling up all my plans? I was going to pay you a visit later tonight you know.”

Robespierre wasn’t in the mood for games.

“This is Marin le Bourgeoy’s flintlock. It will strike unerringly and I have it aimed at your head. Make no mistake this will kill you.

Now place the kunai and egyptian knife on the ground and retrieve the scroll from your right pocket and place that on the ground as well. If I see you unfurl the scroll or attempt any light or darkness with the knives, I will shoot and you will die.”

His delivery was monotone and deadly serious. Cécile complied, her face a pale white. 

His pistol still trained on Cécile, Robespierre walked over to the package that she had dropped on the ground and inspected it. It was a parcel of gunpowder, labeled “November 5th”. Wordlessly, Robespierre retrieved a piece of mesh from his bag and wrapped each of the knives, the scroll, and finally the parcel. As he packed each into his bag, Cécile watched him, paralyzed by the fear that Robespierre’s knowledge and power had struck into her heart. 

As he walked out of the building, Robespierre kept the pistol trained on the woman, and at the last moment, he shot her in the torso, leaving her to die. He had better things to take care of. He walked back to his home, only to store away the artifacts and check again that Éléonore was indeed still safe and alive. 

He waited the next few hours, consumed by his desire to end the last shreds of the wretched plan that had so recently ruined his life. Just before the clock struck eight, he made his way to the Temple, where Louis XVI was being kept. With a few well placed bribes, his old Warehouse badge, and a recognizable face, Robespierre managed to buy some time alone with the King just after he had passed his wedding ring to the keeper of the Royal Seal. 

Robespierre drew his pistol again and loaded it, keeping his eyes on Louis XVI the entire time.

Nonchalantly, Robespierre kept his eye contact with Louis XVI and finally addressed him.

“You are not the purging flood that France needs. You are a piddling child that has wrapped himself up in a great power that he does not understand. If you throw the ring now, we will both die, and yes, I know that you possess the ring. You will give me the ring and go to your death.”

Louis snorted momentarily and retorted.

“Or what? If I am slated to die, why should I obey you? I am the God-appointed King! I am Louis XVI of France!”

Robespierre laughed. It was a little laugh, intended only to disarm his opponent.

“You have seen a single drop of water of the great sea of wretched powerful objects that live in this world...” he said, drawing the kunai he had taken from Cécile. 

“...for example, this knife poisons its victim in a way that is terribly painful, bending the will and destroying the mind. I was exposed to its poison for only a few hours before being cured, and rest assured that I do not intend to cure you. You will go to your death a heaving, poisoned, pained husk, or you will go a perfectly happy King, aware that his plans has failed. Which do you choose?”  
Louis dug into his coat and carefully handed the ring to Robespierre. He wrapped the ring in the mesh and the sparks that it emitted were so bright that they filled the entire building, nearly blinding the two men in the cell.

Robespierre then tucked the neutralized ring into his cloak, stored his pistol, and walked out. 

It was at ten o'clock, at the execution of the king, that Robespierre felt the first mental influence from the Astrolabe. As the guillotine blade dropped towards the King’s exposed neck, he could feel the tendrils of darkness overwhelming his mind, urging him on. When Louis was finally dead, the guillotine glowed with a familiar power, but Robespierre did not feel his sense of dread. Instead, he only felt a sort of joy at the bloodlust. And while a tiny bit of him was afraid, the most of him was only terrifyingly happy. 

From there, Robespierre only felt a growing desire for order and bloodshed, driving him on day after day. While the common man could not be trusted with artifacts, he was no common man. He had transcended time itself, and so as he had once used an artifact to bend the world around him, he would only continue. France would on occasion see another artifact or two, and Robespierre would always be there, jealously hoarding them, gathering them together.

But unlike the Warehouse, Robespierre’s private storage was very much one for use, as often as possible in fact. Traitors were everywhere, and only the order imposed by artifacts and steel could flush them out and make France a safer place to live. 

By the time he was fully aware of the power the Astrolabe had over him and the slowly growing influence that it now dominated him with, he no longer had the ability to care. There was no room for mercy or the weak.

Naturally, however, even his artifact-based empire had its weak points. He sent a letter via bird to the Warehouse, confirming that he had indeed used the Astrolabe and that in doing so he had prevented a disaster that Julia and Alexander could not even hope to understand. He told them that if they dared challenge him that he would kill them, without thought and without hesitation. 

He did not hear from them after that, though his occasional gifts of artifacts to the Warehouse managed to keep them from meddling in his affairs. 

Danton and Camille were naturally executed. They knew too much of the world of artifacts, even if they had only seen a glimpse. Danton’s last words to Robespierre were as follows:

“My dear friend, what happened to letting France making her own revolution?”

Robespierre shook his head.

“France failed.” he said, just before the blade took Danton away as well. 

On the 23rd of May, 1794, Robespierre saw Cécile Renault one last time, posed over his bed with two knives. 

He was able to respond quick enough to dodge her attacks. 

“What happened to the artifact game Cécile?” he asked, taunting her. 

She grimaced, he had obviously hit a nerve. 

“Missing these?” he asked, drawing her old artifact knives, holding each in a gloved hand. 

He was quick. The world of manipulating France with his precious artifacts had slowed him a little, but not enough to take him off his game. With a few strikes with the kunai, he disabled her and had guards take her away. She was to be executed immediately, much to Robespierre’s delight. 

It was that morning that the last shred of Robespierre drifted away, leaving only the monster. Éléonore would stay. Even monstrous Robespierre drew her close and loved her and cared for her, and somehow she knew that she owed him a debt that she could never repay. She loved him, even if the reasons were not as clear as they once had been. 

And as he lifted his head to gaze out over the massive crowd of bloodthirsty citizens, he felt the first drop of rain land on his head, and he remembered something familiar.


End file.
